


Half-Deaths, Whole Truths

by lisswrites



Category: Misfits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-23
Updated: 2014-06-23
Packaged: 2018-02-05 20:54:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1831933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lisswrites/pseuds/lisswrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A 2x01 rewrite because "I thought I'd never see her again." wasn't given the gravitas it needed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Half-Deaths, Whole Truths

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to write this from Nathan's point of view, so it's more stream-of-consciousness than I am accustomed to writing. But! I had to try my hand a more fitting 2x01 reunion between these two! So, here's my first foray into Misfits fic!

Nathans’s scarcely even registered that he’s breathing air-  _real, circulating, fresh air_ \- before he’s jumping out of coffin with a scream, sending the group into a wide-eyed, sweat-sheened state of fear. 

His throat is dry, bordering on arid, and still, he can’t contain himself, doesn’t even give them a minute of repose after his impromptu resurrection. “Lemme tell’ya- All’uv this dyin’ business- you miss out on all the fun.” He pauses, his eyes flickering over them with a manic sort of energy, “I mean, I kicked the metaphorical can for, what? A week, tops? And looka-“

"Two weeks actually." Simon’s fiddling with the collar of his denim jacket, his voice a little over a whisper. "And a few days over."

Nathan’s seized with an urge to burn that fucking jacket, because it’s marvelous really, that Barry, Simon, whatever-the-fuck, managed to keep that ugly jacket alive, but somehow had been unable to keep Nathan on the right side of the roof. He decides verbal evsiceration is a handy alternative. 

“ _JESUS_ , Barry!” His hands are whipping around, matted curls are bouncing, and he’d almost forgotten how much he loved to  _move_. “You’d think you’d cut a guy who just spent two weeks in a COFFIN a wee bit of lenience. Unfuckingbeleivable!”. Nathan rushed forward, grabbing Simon’s jacket with one hand and clasping the side of his face with the other in mock-sincerity, “You’re a swell guy, Barry! Just, really. Grade-A, overall.” 

There’s a breeze then, and suddenly, Nathan is hollering, spinning in circles on the grass, hollering about air and beauty and fucking  _everything_. It’s hard to believe anyone teeming with such vivacity could have ever died in the first place. It’s fitting, then, that out of all of them it was Nathan who got immortality. He’s careening on the dew-slick grass, veins thrumming, but he stops short though when he notices Curtis’s eye; yellowing, blackened, swollen almost all the way shut. 

He whips around, cutting Simon with his gaze and angrily shaking his index finger towards him, pinning the boy in place from yards away with his newly-unleashed ferocity. “Look at this! Obviously the work of a bar fight- and I mean, really, I can’t see you being much help in one of those, Barry!” If Simons’s bothered by Nathan’s grandiose display of cowering poses, he doesn’t say, just sets his jaw. “I mean I’ve been in many a slugging match myself- no seriously, these arms? All muscle. Svelte,  _lean,_ muscle.” 

Nathan’s ripping open the fastenings of his too-big suit, fingers prying at the cuff links, ready to prove his point, and it’s all the impetus Curtis needs to snap out of the post-resurrection daze. Curtis ghosts over the old injury with a free hand, a flash of something jagged and raw glinting in his eyes, before he shakes his head.” ‘S not from that.”

Nathan’s rubbing his hands together, the very caricature of the diabolical villain, “Ahhh, I see, you-“, he paused, frantically nodding at Curtis’s frame- “must’ve asked Alisha, here, to punch you while you were under the spell of her magical-pussy-powers!” Coal-black eyebrows are suddenly retreating into his hairline,  before he arranges his mouth in a thoughtful frown. Nathan decides it’s probably a small price to pay for a piece of what’s under her knickers.

Curtis’s fist is clenching unconsciously, and recently-risen or not, Nathan’s about to get the brunt of Curtis’s anger when Alisha’s hand shoots out, petite and wavering. “Stop being wankers! Both of you!” There’s a puff of air being expelled from her newly-glossed lips, just enough to ruffle her careful fringe. ” ‘Sides, it was Kelly who did tha’ to ‘im anyway.”

She zippers up the pink velour of her jacket, slips her hand into the back pocket of Curtis’s jeans to calm him down. “She attacked him after you…The _“d”_ sound barely makes it past her throat before Alisha coughs, thinks better of it. “After. Thought that Cur’is didn’ care enough you were dead to take it back, to fix it ‘n all that.” 

The electricity seemingly running through Nathan, just moments before, evaporates. 

_Kelly._

He can’t see her, she’s not even here, and it’s like the feeling he’d get right before death crept in, but worse and pressing on his chest all-at-once. Because if anyone would’ve cared, id’ve been her. 

Alisha catches his gaze, tilts her head to a spot behind him, just in the shadows.

The mania’s completely given way, leaving him cold and suddenly cognizant of just how tired he is, how filthy. 

He’s just staring at her, soaking in the shaking hand she has pressed over her mouth, the messy, meandering lines of black mascara trailing down her face. She’s easily wearing half a dozen golden necklaces, each trashier than the next, and her hair is pulled into a slicked-back ponytail so tight it borders on violent.It brings him back to the night before he died- for the first time- when she’d smelled like vanilla and baby powder when he left a kiss on her cheek. He’s wondering if she can remember any of it- he can’t decide if he wants her to or not. The car crash bit wasn’t his best work, admittedly. 

Kelly’s sputtering then, snot sliding onto her palm, and the confusion is clear on her face. He’s not sure if the _“Well, fuck me._ ” was out loud or not, he shrugs, figures it doesn’t matter when Kelly’s involved anyway.

He walks towards her, taking notice of the way she’s supporting her weight on the coffin rather than trusting herself to stand.

It brings his attention to the headstone for the first time.

There’s flowers on his grave, nice ones. And a photo of all the gang in their jumpsuits. A letter, written in pink gel pen and loopy handwriting,and then there’s something wrong with his throat, surely, because he can’t seem to speak. 

The green of his eyes are obscured then, it can’t be from tears, though, because he hasn’t cried since the 5th grade when he broke his collar bone. And that’d been for good reason. Kelly makes a choked kind of laugh, and, dammit he forgot how difficult that whole mind-reading gig was.

Nathan’s arms are opening and all at once there’s a tremendous pair of tits being crushed into his rib cage. No sooner than his chin settles on top of her head, is there a flurry of punches on his arms, his ribcage, Kelly’s sharp rings jutting into the atrophied muscles.

“ _Ow! Ow!_  What the fuck?” He’s sheltering himself from her fists, but he can’t find the strength to step away from her completely.

"Ya smell like  _shit_ , Nayfan, tha’s wha’!” 

He notices the dark rings under her eyes, how bloodshot they seem, and she relents, a bit. 

"Ya rilly do need a showah, though, yeah?." 

Acrylic nails are smoothing out the wrinkles on his suit and he just nods, wondering what her lips would feel like under his.

_He never thought he’d see her again._

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love to hear some tips on characterization- I'm not positive everyone is totally OOC. But this was fun to write, hopefully I'll get more prompts for them in the future!


End file.
